


What's Mine Is Yours

by JHsgf82



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Drabble, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Parents Katniss Everdeen & Peeta Mellark, Pregnant Katniss Everdeen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:00:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24423172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JHsgf82/pseuds/JHsgf82
Summary: Peeta's POV.  Post-Mockingjay/Pre-Epilogue.  A pregnant Katniss is feeling sick and scared.  Peeta does his best to care for her while dealing with his own fears.  Response to the Fluff Drabble Prompt:  “This was my lap. Now apparently this is your lap.”
Relationships: Katniss Everdeen/Peeta Mellark
Comments: 4
Kudos: 127





	What's Mine Is Yours

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rosegardeninwinter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosegardeninwinter/gifts).



> A drabble (long one) for rosegardeninwinter, response to fluff drabble prompt: “This was my lap. Now apparently this is your lap.”
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to the Hunger Games, naturally.

Katniss is pregnant, and I’m elated. Problem is, she’s terrified. When she initially broke the news to me, she was smiling but shaking. And with tears in her eyes, she hugged me so hard it hurt.

We had our toasting nearly fifteen years ago, after the war. I always dreamed of children, but Katniss never wanted them. Then one day, she just changed her mind. I know she opened herself up to it because of me, even though I never asked for them. She just knew. I asked if she was sure, and she said she was, so we decided to simply let it happen if it was going to. And eventually, it did.

I know Katniss holds some excitement, some hope for our future family, but she also has a lot of fear. I reassure her. I tell her I’ll be with her every step of the way. I remind her that the war is over and Panem is a safe place to raise children now. I tell her that the worst thing we might have to endure is our child falling out of a tree and breaking his or her arm. Our children won’t go hungry. Our children will never be in the Hunger Games or even have to watch them. I wish they never had to know about those despicable Games, but they will surely find out, and I’d rather it come from us. I assure Katniss we can make them understand in a way that will make them braver.

I still get flashbacks, and that scares me. I work through them quicker and more easily now, but I know they’ll never go away, and there’s this fear niggling at the back of my mind and rooted deep in my heart that one day I’ll snap and hurt my pregnant wife and our child, viewing them as a mutt and its spawn rather than the two most precious things in my world.

But I can overcome it. I have to overcome it.

Katniss has taken to crawling into my lap on the couch late at night. It’s gotten to the point where I know exactly when she needs to be pressed up against me as close as can be with not a sliver of moonshine between our bodies. I draw her down gently and pull her in. She tucks her legs over mine. I wrap her in a blanket, cradling her like a baby, and I begin rocking her while whispering soothing words and giving her light kisses until she falls asleep in my arms. Sometimes we both do.

My wife is the fiercest, bravest person I know, but she’s also the softest, the most tender when she wants to be. Not many have seen that side of her‒myself, her mother, her dearly departed sister, and Haymitch.

Katniss is nearly three months along now, and she’s been sick. She gets her morning sickness at night, or more precisely, in the wee morning hours. She’ll pace the floors. I’m often up when she is. I’ll bake her bread and crackers to ease her stomach and make herbal tea for her. Sometimes I give her a warm bath. She tries to send me back to sleep after, but I usually linger in case she needs me. Sometimes I sketch or paint with the door to my studio cracked so I can go to her immediately if need be.

Tonight, I’m the one up, and she’s sleeping soundly in our bed. A rarity. I smile at the sight of her peaceful visage‒I live for these moments when I know she’s finally getting a good night’s rest, and especially now with a child on the way whom she needs to keep her strength up for. I bend forward and brush back the hair from her face as gently as possible so as to avoid waking her. At least I’ve picked up something from Katniss over the years‒I’ve learned to be quiet.

I’m thinking of a lot of things tonight. For some reason, the fact that I’m going to be a father is just sinking in. The weight of it, at least. I’m thrilled, of course, but tonight, I’m feeling a bit of Katniss’s trepidation. Perhaps we are sharing thoughts. It’s silly, but part of me wonders if somehow I’ve taken her unease for the night. I hope that’s the case, so she can sleep soundly.

Despite everything, I’m hopeful that the three of us will be happy, that our child will bring about more expressions such as the one on Katniss’s beautiful face now. She seems to be having a pleasant dream. I lean in and barely touch my lips to her warm forehead.

My darling Katniss, my precious child, I love you… Sleep well…  
An hour later, I’m seated on the couch sketching when Katniss slinks in unnoticed. As soon as I see her, I feel a twinge and put down my sketchbook. I can’t believe she’s awake. She was sleeping so heavily, and on those rare occasions, not much can wake her, aside from a nightmare. I hope she didn’t have one, but I didn’t hear her screaming or thrashing around. Perhaps she sensed I was up and came to check on me.

As usual, she slips into my lap. But this time, she pulls my head against her chest rather than the other way around, and she buries her hand in my hair.

I pull back slightly to look up into her eyes, her fingers still twined through my curls. “This was my lap. Now apparently this is your lap,” I say jokingly, although I mean it.

Katniss scowls and makes to get up, but I place a hand on the back of her thigh and pull her legs up over mine. I delicately capture her wrist and place her hand on my shoulder. Her arm instinctively wraps around my neck, and the other follows. And we fit perfectly.

I know she’s not really mad; she gets my sense of humor by now, but she’s not above punishing me for it. I’m not going to let that happen, though. Pressing my forehead against hers, I whisper, “Where are you going? I was only teasing you...”

“I know,” she whispers back. I nuzzle her nose then peck it.

“Good.” I dip my chin to give her a feather-light kiss. “You can have my lap if you want,” I say softly against her lips. I can tell she thinks I’m being ridiculous, so I continue, more sincerely, “All of me and everything I have is yours, Katniss.”

She smiles contentedly, and I lean down to kiss her slightly protruding belly over her nightshirt. “Yours and this one’s.”


End file.
